Chapter II: Marakesh

I had already several times visited Marakesh, or Morocco City, and had therefore no difficulty in finding my way all over the town, through the streets of which, ruinous as they are, it is always a pleasure to pass; for all kinds and species of human beings congregate in this southern capital of the empire, from the fair mountaineer to the swarthy negro from Timbuctu and the Sudan, from the rich merchant of Fez to the lithe shy Berber of the snow-clad peaks of Mount Atlas.

But before I speak of the inhabitants and the strange sights to be seen within the city, some general description of the place must be given.

Marakesh shares with Fez and Meknas, both lying far to the north, the title of a capital, and it often forms the residence of the Sultans of Morocco for considerable periods at a time, the royal palace here being one of the largest in the country. The city lies in a wide plain, formed by the valley of the Wad Tensift, some fifteen miles to the north of the foot-hills of the great Atlas range, at an altitude of some 1600 feet above the level of the sea, from which it is distant about a hundred miles. A wall from 20 to 30 feet in height surrounds the city, which covers a very large extent of ground, though no inconsiderable portion of the enclosed extent is composed of gardens. This wall is defended at intervals of 120 yards by towers, some of which are formed of stone, but most of native concrete or _tabia_, and without lime being employed. Seven gates give entrance and exit to and from the town, but none presents any remarkably handsome features, being more attractive from their yellow colouring and general picturesqueness than from any architectural beauties. On almost all sides the city is surrounded by luxuriant groves of date-palms, stretching for some miles to the north, but more scanty on the south. These are irrigated and the water-supply brought from the Wad Tensift, which flows to the north of the city, and in which there is, summer and winter, a considerable volume of water.

Approaching Morocco from almost every direction except the south, the place lies hid behind the forest of palms until one is close upon it, and even then little is to be seen but the dull yellow walls with their square towers, above which rise the many minarets of the form common to Morocco. These do not in the least resemble those of the East, being of far more solid construction and form, and are almost universally square, though now and again octagonal or sexagonal. Often decorated in gorgeous green tiles, they add, wherever they are met with, a glimpse of colour and form to a city that is otherwise but gloomy,—its buildings and soil, its inhabitants and their clothing, seeming to be all more or less tones of one colour, a greyish yellow. Such is Marakesh as seen from without the walls.

As soon as one has entered its gates the state of dilapidation in which the city now is becomes apparent. Surrounded by ruinous houses and mosques are large open spaces of ground, as often as not filled with the refuse of the city. From these the streets give entrance into the more habitable quarters, where some pretensions to comfort, though few to cleanliness, are to be found.

The streets are wider, as a rule, than in Fez, though many are narrow enough; but the size of the houses bears no proportion to those of the northern capital, being for the most part of one storey in height, except in the thoroughfares and quiet back-streets in which the richer portion of the population live. The smaller one-storeyed buildings all more or less adopt the same form of construction, being built round an open court. _Tabia_—concrete, or rather consolidated soil—is the material in use, with here and there mud bricks. Only two stone buildings, I believe, exist in the whole city.—the handsome gate leading into the “Kasba” near the Government mosque, and the still more handsome minaret of the “Kutubía.”

Some little signs of prosperity, however, are apparent in the bazaars, which are large and well supplied. The new “Kaiseríeh”—parallel arcades arched overhead and lit by open skylights—are of by no means contemptible size or construction, and in good repair. They present of an afternoon, when the goods are for sale by auction in the arcades and by retail in the many box-like shops that line them, a picturesque and lively scene. All manner of goods can be purchased here—from the newest design in Manchester cottons to old silver daggers and brass candelabra. As in nearly all oriental cities, the different trades possess their separate bazaars, one whole street being given up to the _attarin_, or sellers of sugar, spices, glass, and china, &c., who answer much to our grocers; another to the brass and copper workers; a third to the saddlers; and the longest of all perhaps to the shoe-workers, for Marakesh is celebrated for its leather. The merchants and inhabitants generally of the city are very different in type and character to those of Fez. Whereas the latter are fair, and generally most fanatical, the native of Marakesh is a good fellow, smiling and cheery, with far more of the traits of the negro than of the Moor of the north. In colour, too, he is much darker than the Fezzi, and many show more or less remote signs of negro blood, owing, no doubt, to their proximity to the darker tribes, and the fact that the slave-trade of entire Morocco filters through this city.

The residential part of the town is divided into several districts, separated from each other by open spaces, or by streets of shops. Just as in Europe, there are the fashionable and unfashionable quarters, the “Medina” or city being perhaps the most sought after. So largely does fashion hold sway over the people, that the rents of houses of equal size only a few hundred yards away from one another vary often fifty per cent, a palace in the district of “Bab Dukala” not bringing anything like so large a sum as a minute house in the “Medina.” It was in the latter that I resided during my stay, in the house of Sid Abu Bekr el Ghanjaui, who owns very considerable property all over the city, and particularly in this neighbourhood. The houses here are high, and, like most Moorish residences, have but few windows looking towards the street, one and all possessing central courts on to which the rooms open. But even in respect of windows Morocco City is different to Fez, for whereas

in the latter from the streets one sees but few, and those generally closely barred, in Marakesh they are in considerably larger numbers, though, as I stated above, by no means general.

After the “Medina”—the trading quarter—the “Kasba” is the most important. This district, the residence of the Government, and which contains the palace, is separated from the remainder of the town by walls, much resembling those that encircle the city, but higher and in better repair. Nor do the houses reach to this wall, for between the city proper and the “Kasba” are large open spaces and many gardens, adding a most picturesque effect to this quarter. These gardens for the most part are walled, and as a rule only the tree-tops, amongst them the handsome cypress and date-palm, are visible, while the minarets beyond cap the scene.

One enters the “Kasba” through the handsome stone gate of which I have already made mention, and of which tradition says the stones were brought from Spain, and after passing a smaller and less important gateway, one emerges opposite the large “Jumma el Makhzen,” or Government mosque, with its handsome minaret of stone and tiles, and its huge modern courtyard, opening on to the street by large gates. With the exception of the tower, now fast falling into decay, it presents no particular features of architectural beauty, though its courts and green tiles and turreted walls are by no means despicable. A long straight road with one-storeyed houses on both sides, for the most part quarters of soldiers and _employés_ in the Government service, leads on to another series of walls, those of the Sultan’s palace.

As in all the Moorish cities, the great courtyards of the palace are public thoroughfares, though they can be closed any moment by the strong gates which are found in every direction, and one of the principal entrances and exits of the city is through the royal squares that lie between the palace and the great park, or “Agdal,” of the Sultan. These squares, three in number, are surrounded by high walls of modern construction and in good repair, and open into one another by handsome gateways, decorated in colour-tiles and painting,—the latter an art peculiar almost to this portion of Morocco, and though met with here and there elsewhere, it is known throughout the country as a Marakesh fashion. For the most part it consists of red and black designs upon a ground of yellow ochre, and has by no means a bad effect, especially when employed under the overhanging roofs of green tiles in the palaces and mosques.

Although it covers a very considerable amount of ground, the palace at Marakesh, as seen from the outside, does not present any very particular features of beauty, though the pointed roofs of brilliant green and highly glazed tiles, capped with globes of gold, are picturesque enough. The interior it is impossible to see, and the one or two courtyards which I had visited on a previous occasion were in bad repair, noticeable only for their size and absence of decoration. Probably, however, in the portion of the palace put aside for the private use of the Sultan and his many women, there exists a great deal that

is beautiful in the way of architecture and decoration, though the constant love of the Sultans for pulling down and rebuilding has no doubt destroyed much of the older work, which in all probability was the best. It must by no means, however, be denied that even the modern architecture of the Moors, as exemplified in the finer houses of Fez, is excellent. It is the custom of writers on Morocco to detract in every way from the present state of the country and its inhabitants, especially as regards architecture; but this is no doubt owing to the fact that they have no opportunity during their stay in the towns of entering the houses of the official and richer classes, for the Moors are very shy of strangers, and it requires a long acquaintance with the language and the people before they will admit one, as a rule, into the interior of their abodes, and then generally not unless the native costume is adopted, for fear of falling into bad repute if “Christians” are seen to enter. I have myself not only had many opportunities of seeing the finest houses of Fez, but have resided in them for several periods of no little time, and can vouch that some of the dwellings of the richer men are little short of the Alhambra in beauty. The one great drawback to their modern architecture is the entire absence of marble pillars, in place of which much heavier work is erected, usually richly decorated in tiles. Beautiful as they often are, the airiness and lightness so apparent in the Alhambra, for instance, is entirely wanting. The mosaics of finely cut tiles to-day being worked in Fez surpass in design and skilful application any I have seen in Spain. However, I have wandered rather far from Morocco City, for there but little if any great beauty is to be seen, the inhabitants being, as a rule, much poorer than those of the northern capital, while the materials used in the construction of their houses are not nearly so good or so lasting.

On the opposite side of the three squares to the palace are the walls of the “Agdal,” the great enclosed park of the Sultan. On a previous visit to Marakesh I had been allowed to wander at will in these gardens for hours at a time, and though, according to our ideas, they have fallen into a state of ruin, they are still very beautiful. Water runs in every direction; and at one spot is a huge tank, or reservoir, reached by a handsome flight of steps, and of such dimensions that a steam-launch plies upon its waters. As for the gardens, they are a forest of olive and palm and orange trees, half smothered in many places in dense creepers, while the soil is covered with a thick undergrowth of shrubs and flowers, that shelter not only the partridge and the hare, but even foxes and jackals. The Sultan, in spite of the dilapidated state of his gardens, draws no small revenue from the sale of its fruits, which are put up to auction annually, and sold when still on the trees, the purchasers having to pluck and send them to the market, as well as to guard them against theft.

There are several fine mosques in the Marakesh, one surpassing all the others in its magnificent minaret, which may be said to be almost the sole existing example in the whole country of the remarkable existence. This

mosque and minaret are known as the “Kutubía,” or “Mosque of the Library,” from its having contained at one period a vast collection of manuscripts. The tower, built of squared stone, is 280 feet in height, and is surmounted by a smaller minaret, which again is capped with a dome. On the summit of this dome are three gold globes, one above the other and decreasing in size. On the summit of the lower tower is a parapet of Moorish design. The whole building is of a dull red colour, and the niches of the windows and the centres of its faces are carved in a very pure style of Arabic design. Originally tilework filled most of these niches, but a great quantity of this has fallen away, though a broad band of green and black encircles the whole immediately below the parapet. Just as in the two sister towers,—the Ghiralda of Seville and the Hassan tower at Rabat, the latter uncompleted,—a sloping incline takes the place of steps within, on account of this forming an easier ascent for the beasts of burden that carried the stones during its construction. The architect of all three of these towers is said to have been a certain Fabir, who worked in the employ of the Sultan El Mansur, in whose reign the Kutubía was completed. The mosque beneath, though covering an enormous extent of ground, is in by no means just proportion to the great minaret, being built of brick, and white-washed, while the roof is tiled. Below the flooring is said to exist a great cistern excavated by the Sultan El Mansur. The pillars supporting the roof of this mosque are all of marble, and the courts are paved in the same stone and coloured tiles.

From whatever point Marakesh is looked at, the great tower of the Kutubía is the first object to catch the eye, and it forms an excellent landmark in steering one’s way over the bewildering plain that surrounds the city on all sides. I was told when crossing the Glawi Pass, on the fourth day after leaving Marakesh for Tafilet, that from a point near the road this great work, the sole reminder of the genius of the old-day Moors, was visible.

Although the largest mosque, and possessing the handsomest minaret, the Kutubía seems much deserted as a place of worship, possibly from its being somewhat removed from the more inhabited portions of the city. Two shrines have annexed all the veneration of the townspeople and the surrounding tribes,—those of Sid bel Abbas, the patron saint of the city, and Mulai Abdul Aziz. A pretty story is told about the first, which, though common amongst the Moors, I have never seen quoted. Sid bel Abbas arrived outside the walls of the town, a beggar in rags; but although his poverty was apparent, he had a great reputation for sanctity. Before entering he sent to the Shereefs living within to ask their permission to be allowed to reside in the city, a course that much perturbed the said saints; for up to that moment they possessed the monopoly of the business—in Morocco a most lucrative one—of demanding and receiving alms on account of their descent from the Prophet. Wishing, however, to avoid an abrupt refusal, they resorted to delay, during which Sid bel Abbas took up his residence on the summit of a rocky barren hill—Jibel Glissa—which rises amongst the palm-groves to the west of the walls, and on which a little mosque to-day commemorates the event. At length, seeing that some answer must be sent, the Shereefs filled a bowl to the brim with water and sent it out to him. The bowl represented the city and the water themselves, and the bowl was full, which said pretty plainly, “Business already overstocked—much rather you wouldn’t come.” However, they gave him an opportunity of getting over their device, for the message they sent was couched in more poetical language. “If you can add,” they said, “to a bowl of water already full, enter.” Thereupon the saint plucked a rose and held it in the sun until its stalk thirsted for moisture, when he gently laid it in the bowl. The water displaced was drunk up by the thirsty flower. In this manner he sent the bowl back—but with no answer. When, however, the Shereefs saw that he had succeeded, and also paid such a pretty compliment to himself as to liken them to the water and himself to the rose, they withdrew all opposition, and the saint entered the city, and, judging from the reverence paid to his bones, must have entirely monopolised the business.

The “Zauia” of Sid bel Abbas forms a sort of almshouses, and food and money are distributed there to the poor. An entire quarter of the city—the extreme north-west—belongs to the _zauia_, and it owns enormous tracts of palm-groves and agricultural land in the surrounding plain. These possessions have been offerings from the faithful, or bequests at death, and in some cases purchases made with the constant flow of money that pours into the coffers of the mosque.

Another almost equally holy spot is the shrine of Mulai Abdul Aziz, which lies either in or just on the borders of the “Medina” quarter. A very handsome building covers the tomb, like that of the rival saint, gorgeously decorated, and full of lamps and candlesticks of precious metals. But of all the treasures stored in these sanctuaries, clocks are the most numerous. When this invention began to penetrate into Morocco—that is to say, in comparatively late years—they were naturally looked upon as the most valuable and wonderful things, and a fashion promptly set in to bestow them upon the ashes of the dead saints. Every one who could afford it gave a clock, and often in talking of local saints I have heard Moors say, “Ah! he was a saint indeed, God’s mercy upon him; and there are four clocks in his tomb!” It is said that the burial-place of Mulai Idris at Fez presents a bewildering scene of clocks, great and small, half going, and all wrong. I myself have had opportunities of visiting one or two tombs in Morocco, and have listened, bewildered, to the ticking of fifty or sixty of these much-reverenced presents. Most seem to be tall “grandfather” clocks, made in England, and dating from about the end of the last century. Some are remarkably fine, with silver dials, showing the quarters of the moon, &c. Even to-day the natives adore the great, loud, ticking horrors manufactured for the native market in Algeria—monstrosities of gaudy decoration and painted wood—and no good house is considered complete without one or more. I have dined in houses at Fez where there have been six or seven in one room.

None of the other mosques of Marakesh calls for much remark, though those of Ibn Yusuf, El Mansur, and El Muiz are large, the former possessing a very handsome, though more modern, minaret, rich in green tiles. As is customary all through Morocco, no Christians are allowed to enter the sanctuaries, and even whole districts, _zauias_, are sacred. One or two streets near the tomb of Mulai Abdul Aziz are crossed with chains, marking the boundary of town and saintly property, and within these limits even the assassin is safe from arrest, for they answer the purpose of marking the boundary of the refuge. The result is that all the _zauias_ are full of refugees of all classes, from political prisoners to the pilferer of the stalls in the markets.

Two large markets are held weekly, one outside the Bab (gate) el Khamis—as its name implies, on Thursdays—and the other within the city walls in the square of Jumma el fanar. Both collect large crowds of the country-people, as well as the natives of the town, and the trade is considerable in native produce. The more picturesque of the two is without doubt that of the “Khamis,” for the great open space that serves as the market-place is surrounded on two sides by the palm-groves, and on the other two by the long straight line of the city walls. A few cypress-trees and a white-domed saint’s tomb add not a little to form a fit background to the strange grouping of figures and animals that are crowded together in the market. Here herds of oxen, cows, and calves are for sale, tended by the long-robed Arabs from the plains; there camels, goats, and sheep. Mules occupy a spot to themselves, and one at a time is mounted by the auctioneer to show its paces; while a professional rider gallops to and fro, shouting as he goes, upon the various horses, for which he yells for bids. All classes and kinds of people congregate in the market—from rich Shereefs, accompanied by slaves, and riding great fat mules with crimson saddles, to the ragged hungry soldier; from the timid Berber of the Atlas peaks, in his black cloak, to the _gamin_ of the streets; from the respectable grain-merchant to the most disreputable of Jew money-lenders. Here, too, the shoesmith has his tents, and women sell baskets and embroideries, pots and pans of earthenware, and wooden dishes, embroidered _kuftans_ and woollen girdles. All the city seems to adjourn of a Thursday morning to the great level space outside the Bab el Khamis to buy and sell or look on.

The Jews, as in nearly all Moorish cities, possess a quarter to themselves—the “Mellah,” or salted place. In Marakesh it lies quite close to the “Kasba,” and almost adjoins the Sultan’s palace. If anything this division of the town is dirtier than any other, while the ever-present smell of _mahia_—the strong spirit made in the place—adds a nauseating aroma to the many already emitted by the offal and filth thrown out into the street. There are many well-to-do Jews in Marakesh, and one or two possess nice houses, scrupulously clean within, but with manure-heaps, several feet in height, at the door-step—the refuse of the place, which they merely throw there and leave to rot.

Drunkenness seems very common in the streets of the _mellah_, and it is this fact that gave rise to the recent complaints as to the persecution of the Jews. As far as the Sultan is concerned, they can get as drunk as they like in their own quarter, for they are under a Sheikh of their own; but he naturally objected to them selling _mahia_ to the soldiery, for whose crimes he was responsible. However, in spite of the fact that the Jews are, or ought to be, almost all Moorish subjects, the Sultan has not been able to prevent this nuisance, for the cry of persecution at once arises. I was asked on the last two occasions that I visited Marakesh to make inquiries as to the state of the Jews there, and had opportunities of speaking with, and consulting, the leading and most respectable of the Israelites. They one and all made light of the complaint of general persecution, but mentioned that individual cases did exist where Jews had been hardly treated on insufficient evidence. However, such is far more often the case with Moors. I have met with much kindness on my travels from the Jews of the interior, and also at times with no little show of fanatical hatred; and I think that the most respectable of their tribe in all the towns acknowledged that the cry of persecution was more an attempt to become exempt from taxation than for justice for wrongs done. There can be no doubt, however, that in former times the Jews were cruelly used; but the late Sultan, Mulai el Hassen, was a broad-minded man, and never refused to listen to their petitions. No one mourned his death more sincerely than the peace-abiding members of that tribe, whose wrongs he was ever ready to redress, though only naturally he put opposition in the way of those who, taking advantage of European protection or his own leniency, practised nefarious usury with his subjects.

The population of Marakesh to-day does not probably number more than some 40,000 souls, though it is said that within a hundred years of its founding by Yusuf in 1062 A.D. it contained some 700,000 inhabitants. There is no doubt, though this figure is probably an exaggeration, that it was at one time a city of great importance and learning, for even Europe sent its sons to be educated at the great colleges that existed there at that time.

I have written but little as to Marakesh. It is a city that has so often been described by other travellers, that it has been my purpose here merely to sketch its peculiarities and to give a general

impression of the place. Briefly, it presents a maze of yellow streets, leading, here, between the crumbling walls of tottering houses; there, through narrow dimly lit bazaars with their tiny boxlike shops; and here, again, amongst the high white walls of the residences of the richer class. Then out into great open dusty spaces, surrounded by half-ruined mosques with tiled minarets, or gardens above the walls of which appear the tops of palms, olive, and orange trees, and the straight stems of glowing cypresses. Then perhaps one turns a corner and comes face to face with a drinking-fountain of exquisite tilework and carved wood, to stumble, as one gazes at it, into a manure-heap or a hole in the road, broken in the roof of some aqueduct. And beyond the wonderful range of white snow-peaks, rising some 12,000 feet above the level of the city, the silent majesty of the great Atlas Mountains.